


When My Heart Finds Christmas

by Miss_Aphi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gift Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Mutual Pining, Repressed Memories, Secret Santa, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stucky - Freeform, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Aphi/pseuds/Miss_Aphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was another Christmas Eve in New York City.  Snow was falling gently to the ground, glittering in the streetlamps, and beyond the light pollution in Soho, Steve Rogers was sure the stars were twinkling brightly in the sky of the early evening.  He could hear Christmas music being played from nearby storefronts, combining into a pleasant mix of tinkling bells and familiar tunes.  It was romantic.  Or it would have been if Steve had anyone to share it with.  Sure, he had his team, and his best friend, but there was a cloying emptiness inside of his chest that seemed to only widen into a bottomless chasm around this time of year.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	When My Heart Finds Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/gifts).



> A giftfic for [hopeless--geek](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/) for the [stuckythorki](http://stuckythorki.tumblr.com/) Secret Santa exchange.

~ =★= ~

It was another Christmas Eve in New York City.  Snow was falling gently to the ground, glittering in the streetlamps, and beyond the light pollution in Soho, Steve Rogers was sure the stars were twinkling brightly in the sky of the early evening.  He could hear Christmas music being played from nearby storefronts, combining into a pleasant mix of tinkling bells and familiar tunes.  It was romantic.  Or it would have been if Steve had anyone to share it with.  Sure, he had his team, and his best friend, but there was a cloying emptiness inside of his chest that seemed to only widen into a bottomless chasm around this time of year.

Like most stores, the Tiffany & Co.’s windows were a sight to see.  This year, it was a small street scene done mostly in white, with tiny, Tiffany Blue packages wrapped in red ribbon. Dainty pieces of jewellery were hung with care amidst the display, acting as wreaths and glittering snow.  Silhouettes were cut out in the lit windows, making it look like there were little parties going on inside of the homes.

Steve caught all of these little, delicate details.  His artistic mind coupled with photographic recall would allow him to recreate the image from memory if he were to draw it later on.  He absently wondered if he could afford any of this stuff.  Sure, he had 70-years of military back-pay and his pension that he was sitting on, and Stark bankrolled pretty much everything else, but Tiffany’s had always been expensive, even back in his day.  Not that he had anybody to buy jewellery for.

He thought all of this as his body was flung through the glass pane and into the display, completely destroying it.  Glass cut into the exposed parts of his face, splitting open the skin.  He rubbed a gloved hand over his jaw and cheeks to brush the looser pieces of glass out of his skin, before he shook off the ringing in his ears.  His head tipped up to glower at the Doombot that was heading in his direction.

“ _Rogers, you good?_ ”  Bucky’s voice filtered through the comm unit in his ear. Steve rolled out of the window and landed on his feet in a crouch, turtling up behind his shield as the ‘Bot let loose a laser beam.  He tipped the shield to reflect it right back, destroying the mechanical monstrosity in an explosion of sparks and metal debris.

“Remind me to send the Fantastic Four a nasty email about going on vacation all at the same time.  Doom and his toys are supposed to be  _their_  territory,” Steve huffed back, all traces of his Brooklyn drawl smothered by necessity to be heard and understood clearly over the comms.  Bucky’s deep chuckle filled his ears.

“ _That ain’t very Christmasy of you, punk_ ,” Bucky sassed, which pulled a small smile at Steve’s mouth.  Tinny laughter over his head silenced any retort he might have had to the jerk.  Above him, Doom himself loomed, the heat from his jetpack hot enough for Steve to feel it even from his position on the ground.

“I was hoping to encounter Richards, but I suppose you will do just as well in a pinch, Captain!”  Doom said cheerfully.  Whatever that meant, Steve wasn’t about to find out.  Grabbing his shield by the edge, he let it loose. It tinged harmlessly off the building behind Doom, but caught Doom on the rebound. As Steve caught the shield on a second rebound, Doom's jet pack dropped him like a sack of potatoes, the sound of metal scraping over concrete grating Steve's skin like nails on a chalkboard and putting his teeth on edge. With a grunt, Steve slid his shield onto his back and strolled over to the pothole containing Doom. 

"I need a containment unit on Greene Street in front of the Tiffany's. Anybody copy?" Steve inquired as he warily approached the fallen Doom, who was on his belly, fists clutched up where they were sprawled. 

" _I copy. ETA, three minutes_ ," Nat replied from the quinjet. " _You get me anything shiny, Cap?_ " Steve snorted out a laugh. 

"Yeah, don't know if you're going to like it. It's pretty big and gaudy," he said as he crouched down beside Victor, who hadn't moved a muscle since making a dent in the pavement.

It happened so quickly that even Steve, with his enhanced reflexes, couldn't stop it. Doom launched himself out of his sprawl, putting all that armoured body weight into the momentum to knock Steve on his ass. With one knee on Steve's arm and the other pressing painfully into his sternum, Doom laughed again as he leaned over the Captain. Breathing was hard, his chest felt like it was on fire as one rib snapped and then another. He could distantly hear the chatter in his comm; could make out Bucky's clipped tone that usually heralded the emergence of his programming which, thankfully, had been on their side rather than treating Steve like a target when Bucky first came home. 

"Don't worry, Captain. You're used to being a science experiment. Consider this to be a field test of your serum," Doom cooed with false assurance. The sudden white hot heat on his cheek tore an embarrassingly loud scream from his throat, and he thrashed under Doom to try and knock him off, to get whatever the hell was on his face off. He heard more than felt a few more ribs crack.  He couldn’t feel much at all actually, except for the cold of winter on his skin. And then he felt nothing at all. 

His eyes popped open in confusion. He didn't recall closing them. There was nothing but dark skies and falling snow above him where he was laid out on his back. He could almost make out the stars over his head. No pressure on his ribcage, no scalding on his face. It was darker than it had been, and for a brief moment, Steve feared that Doom had figured out a way to remove or contain the serum in his veins with whatever he'd put on Steve's skin. Taking a few breaths to calm his pounding heart, he lifted his hand up in front of his face. Pale digits wrapped in a fingerless leather glove, but still the same size as it was a minute ago. 

"C'mon, punk, you're gonna catch your death out here," Bucky's voice was close, jovial, and he let out a sigh of relief. Twisting onto his hands and knees, Steve shook off the lingering disorientation before lifting his head up to find his best guy. The buildings were different. Rather than immaculate storefronts -  _save for the Tiffany's window he destroyed_  – semi run-down brownstone apartments and flophouses lined the street. He turned his head to where Bucky's voice had come from, and there he was, with an arm looped around the sickly, small version of _himself_.

Rogers _– Steve had to call him Rogers, it was too strange to call him Steve in his head_  – was shuffling along under Bucky’s arm, his gait uneven thanks to his crooked spine and the contents of the brown paper bag in his hand.  If that wasn’t a trip, Steve didn’t know what was.  But Bucky… Bucky, at least, looked _good_. Granted, he always did, but his hair was slicked back, and he was clean-shaven. Definitely not the scruffy, man-bunned Winter Soldier Steve had seen just half an hour ago. 

"Ehh, can it, Buck. I ain't had pneumonia yet this year,"  Rogers replied, as he lifted the bag up to his mouth and tipped whatever contents lay within into his mouth. Steve recalled then what it was. Whiskey, the cheapest stuff he could afford. It had tasted awful, but he hadn't needed a lot to get where he was going, and that was to Drunkland. 

"There's still time, pal. Winter ain't even started yet.  Gimme that," Bucky huffed, pulling the bottle out of the punk's grip to get a mouthful of the swill himself. Bucky's voice betrayed him. There was concern there, more than he usually showed. Something sick and sad settled in Steve's stomach as he got to his feet. He knew this. The night got fuzzy as it went on, likely due to the booze, but he knew it. Rogers and Bucky were coming home from midnight mass. It was the wee hours of Christmas morning, and Rogers was set on getting plastered to mute the ache in his chest. 

Sarah Rogers had been dead for six months, and he'd been living with Bucky for five. He may have been twenty-two, but the loss of his mother had broken him up more than he ever told his best friend. Bucky knew, of course. How could he not? Rogers was a shadow of himself, moving about the apartment they were currently headed for, existing but not really living. The parallels between this point in his life and how he had been after waking up from his ice nap were not lost on Steve. At least Bucky was there for him back then. Er. Now? Steve was unsure.

"Hey! Wait!" Steve called to Bucky and himself as he ran after them. Had he not been friends with an alien demigod, lived through an alien invasion, been reunited with Bucky after 70-odd years, and took down a city-sized meteorite created by a murderbot, he would have thought this was extra strange. As it was, this was all in a day's work. 

Except neither Bucky nor Rogers spared him a glance, not even when he caught up to them while reaching for his thin arm. In fact, his fingers passed right through his tiny self's limb.

Okay.  _Now_  it was weird. What the hell had Doom hit him with?!

Rogers huffed at Bucky, a scowl embedded on his face and making him look older. Which was impressive considering he barely looked 16 at the best of times. Bucky, true to form, smirked at his Steve’s annoyance. Rogers looked away after grabbing the bottle back, drinking deep from it. Bucky's expression softened, concern etched in every inch of his face, and the muscles under his winter coat tightened slightly while jostling Rogers in close. 

They were scaling the stairs into their apartment in DUMBO before Steve knew it. He was drawn, like a moth to the flame, after these shadows of memory. The darkness made sense now. His night vision used to be absolute shit, and he couldn't see much more than sepia tone.  

Inside the apartment, Rogers and Bucky peeled off their winter outer layers, leaving them both in their Sunday bests.  Those didn’t last long, though. Rogers was already tugging with annoyance at his tie with one hand while the other tipped more of the whiskey down his throat.  When the tie was loose enough, he shook out his free arm to try and shrug the jacket off.  Bucky was quiet while he kicked off his shoes and moved behind his Steve to help peel him out of the jacket, so it could be hung up, as opposed to strewn over the floor wherever it landed. 

Steve remembered the apartment being warm that year, to the point where he could almost feel it on his skin.  Not exceptionally warm, but more than the years that followed where they couldn’t afford to keep the heat on all the time. He had money left from his mother’s will, and after selling all of her things except for what mattered most, there was enough to pay to keep the heat on for the winter.  That had been Rogers’ focus that year.   _Stay warm, be comfortable, don’t get sick, because if you get sick, you're in a state where you won't fight to survive._  

Bucky’s plan for that year, however, was different and far more frivolous.  He’d gone out to get them a tree.  It was a ratty thing, probably the shittiest one on the lot, and he’d filched a box of hand-painted decorations from his parents’ place; the sort of decorations they just don’t make anymore.  He and Bucky had sat together on their threadbare sofa to string garlands of popcorn, though half of it had ended up in their mouths and they’d ended up need to make more.  They may not have had a lot of money, but there were a few small gifts under their shitty tree, wrapped in newspaper and twine.

Bucky helped Rogers shuffle to that sofa with a guiding hand on the small of his back. Steve recalled being annoyed by it but hadn't said anything, because it was Christmas. He also recalled being warmed by it, a small curl of want in his belly that was fuelled by the liquor. But it wasn't right. Not even in the future was it right. Bucky's recovery had been going so well. The last thing the man needed was to hear from his best friend was  _oh, by the way, I've been in love with you since I was a skinny punk in short pants with my first broken nose._

Steve moved around the small apartment, touching along the pictures pinned to the walls. Pictures of their families, of them together, of things Rogers had drawn that Bucky made a fuss over. He was always making a fuss over Steve, back then and now. Er. Now and in the future?

The man in question was in their small kitchen, putting a pot of tea over the burner. Bucky flipped on their shitty radio, and after the tubes had warmed up, Christmas music filled the room. Given Rogers distance from the radio, it was no surprise to him that the tune was muffled. He was too far away to hear it clearly with his good ear. Bucky returned to the sofa with a suppressed sigh at his companion. 

"C'mon, punk, drink some tea," Bucky insisted as he sat beside Rogers, holding out one of their chipped cups towards him. Rogers was far more interested in the bottle, and just gave Bucky a withering look that could curl the toes of a demon were it on the receiving end. Bucky was completely unfazed, further foisting the drink on Rogers. Rogers sighed and tucked the bottle between his hip and the arm of the sofa, so Bucky wouldn't get the wise idea to try and take it from him.

"Can't believe y'were drinkin' that swill in church, man. It ain't even good liquor," Bucky chastised, a crooked smirk slipping across his face. Rogers rolled his eyes as he blew across the top of the cup before taking a sip. 

"S'doin' it's job though, s'all that matters," his smaller self replied, words slurring together like his tongue was swollen behind his teeth. Rogers closed his eyes, focusing on the task of choking down the heated liquid so he could get back to the one that burned on the way down. Steve sighed at his young self, medicating his heartache like he always did when it got to be too much. Until the serum, it worked. It was just enough to let him have an excuse to fall apart before he bottled everything back up until the next time. Everyone called him a fairy when they were trying to dig at him, there was no point in further proving that by bawling like a dame in front of them. No, here in the safety of their apartment, with Bucky here to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit when the time came, it was okay.

Steve's eyes trailed to Bucky, whose expression had faltered and fallen into something unguarded. Broken-hearted concern tugged his full lips downward, and his fingers twitched where he had them on his knees. The twitching was from anxiousness, he was sure. Bucky's eyes -  _which had always appeared light brown to Steve until he could perceive colour_ \- while filled with worry, were also hedging on something more as they looked at Rogers. Something primal.

Steve felt heat crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. He didn't have to remember tonight in perfect clarity to recognize that look. It was not something he ever saw directed at him. Bucky only looked at ladies that way. Well... so Steve thought, but here it was right in front of him. The twitching fingers weren't out of anxiety. They were out of the desire to move, and touch. But surely he was seeing what he wanted to see. Not what had actually happened that night. The world around him was hazy with the alcohol in the memory, drab and dark with his shit vision. No, this was his interpretation of that night. His painful, repressed fantasies playing out in sepia-tone. 

"Damn," he heard Bucky say, though it wasn't from in front of him. He twisted slightly to see the Bucky he knew now standing beside him, head cocked to the side. His Bucky was in full colour, still in his tactical gear like Steve was, silver arm glinting in the dim light of their old living room. 

"Buck? What's goin' on?" Steve asked, warily, as his gaze slipped from Bucky to... Bucky. Okay.  _Barnes_. Barnes on the couch with Rogers. God, his head was hurting suddenly, and worry filled his heart. He didn't want Bucky to see this, to see how he had imagined being on the receiving end of Bucky's wanting gaze.

"Dunno. I yanked Victor off you an' there was somethin' on your face. Looked painful so I tried t'pull it off, now I'm here," Bucky stated calmly, slate-blue eyes assessing their younger selves. The room began to bleed out from the tones of brown to colour, and Steve sucked in a breath. He'd never seen their apartment in colour. Yellow wallpaper covered the walls, though it was somewhat faded beneath all the pictures and tokens of their friendship that were pinned to it. The chipped cup in Rogers' hand was a pale blue as opposed to the white he thought it was. The music cleared up, so it was only the crackle of the radio that made it sound like shit, instead of the low, persistent hum in Steve's "good" ear. It didn't surprise him at all that Bucky being here overrode his own memories.  The man was the source of almost all of his good ones.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky's jaw tense as he sent a furtive glance in Steve's direction. Bucky's weight shifted minutely until his shoulder brushed against Steve's, and the contact unfurled something tense in his stomach. This wasn't a dream. And he wasn't dead. Moreover, even with Bucky's memory dominating what they were seeing, the way Barnes was looking at Rogers hadn't become neutral. In fact, Barnes' gaze betrayed even more. Still, maybe Steve was misreading things. Sure, he'd watched Bucky a lot growing up together, but there was still that edge of wishful thinking in his chest that clouded his analytical mind where his best friend was concerned. 

Leaning heavier on Bucky, Steve sighed. It wasn't a dream, but it sure didn't seem real. There was no way Bucky was looking at him like that. Maybe they were both a little drunk on the bottle Rogers was giving a noble effort at finishing. Steve couldn't remember if he did or not. Everything got super hazy a little after two in the morning.

"You remember this...?" Bucky asked softly, as if speaking any louder would disrupt the evening playing in front of them. A faint smirk pulled at Steve's mouth. 

"Isn't that usually my line?" Steve drawled back which got him a light shove in the shoulder. Steve ultimately shook his head in spite of the way he smirked at Buck.  "Not really. I remember some but I was so drunk already," he admitted. Bucky hummed in understanding, brow furrowing with the thought. Bucky chewed on the insides of his lips, a tell-tale sign that he had something to say but no idea how to broach the subject. It wasn't a new habit for him to have, but it had taken time for Bucky's old quirks to come back out after HYDRA. Steve knew better than to press him to spill the beans, so he leaned back against the wall to watch his younger self be a drunken asshole.

Except Bucky kept drawing his eye.  The man could be still as stone, and often was.  There were plenty of times where the looming assassin would shift after being motionless and actually startle Steve with the motion.  Right now, however, Bucky was restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the silver slats of his arm clicked and shifted against one another.  Steve frowned at Bucky, shouldering into him slightly.  However, before he could ask what was eating him, there was a shout from the sofa.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Steve, you’ve had enough!” Barnes snarled.  The larger man was reaching over Rogers, trying to grab the bottle.  Rogers was half-bent over the arm of the chair, to keep the bottle away from Barnes, though the brunet had him half-pinned as he reached for it.  Even still, Barnes was holding his weight up with one arm, mindful of Rogers’ crooked spine and weak lungs.  Barnes had always been so damned careful, especially when he got like this.

“Fuck off, Bucky, it’s mine!” Rogers slurred, bringing the bottle to his mouth to try and take a few more gulps.  Barnes got a hand on the bottle and yanked it free of Rogers’ slender fingers.  Rogers snarled at him as he twisted around to try and get at Barnes, hands up and ready to snatch at the bottle, but the larger man was holding it above his back and out of reach.  That had rarely stopped Rogers.  He pushed with his feet to try and squirm upwards, one arm wrapping around Barnes’ shoulders as the other reached for the bottle, petulant and stubborn as ever.

Steve sucked in a breath, and it was echoed by Rogers when he realized how they were situated on the couch now.  Barnes was on his knees between Rogers’ legs, lips parted, cheeks reddened but he refused to waver from holding the bottle away.  The two men, innocent of war and the atrocities that were coming in their lives, peered at one another as though something had shifted into place, as though things finally made sense.

It was Rogers that moved first, pushing upward and crashing his lips sloppily and unpracticed against the other man’s.  The bottle was forgotten, dropped to the floor, too empty to leak anywhere even though it was tipped on its side.  Barnes made a noise low in his throat as his fingers grasped a handful of blonde, drawing Rogers’ face at the right angle to sweep his tongue into his mouth, just once.  The taste of alcohol, however, made him withdraw, lips red and shiny all the same.  Rogers whined and tried to follow, but Barnes pulled back further.

“You’re drunk, Stevie,” he said softly, as if speaking any louder would betray just how much he’d wanted this, and for how long.

“M’not, not that drunk, Buck… Buck please,” Rogers whined again, tugging at the back of Barnes’ neck, but the brunet was unmoved.  He shook his head and pushed up onto his knees, and then back onto his ass.

“In the mornin’, after you’ve slept this off, if you still want me, we’ll talk ‘bout it then.  Okay?”  Barnes insisted, holding out a hand to keep Rogers at bay, who was trying to crawl over into his lap.  Rogers looked positively livid, huffing out a breath that flipped blonde bangs briefly off of his forehead.  Beneath the irritation, however, Steve could see the truth.  Heartache, fear of rejection.  How many times had he wondered why he bothered with his crush on Bucky?  Why would Bucky want someone like Steve when he could have any dame, or fella, in DUMBO if he wanted?

“Want you, Buck,” Rogers insisted, though he looked defeated.  To Steve’s left, Bucky ducked his head, arms wrapping around his chest protectively.

“Bucky… I…” Steve stammered, scrambling for something, anything to say.  _I didn’t remember, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry…_ seemed so insignificant in comparison to what had just occurred. He didn’t remember, he’d been drunk, just like Barnes had said.

“We never did talk about it.  You didn’t mention it and neither did I,” Bucky said quietly, watching the hazy memory as Rogers was ushered off the sofa to go and clean-up for bed.  Barnes, on the other hand, picked up the bottle and drained the rest of it.  The young Bucky hunkered down on himself on the sofa, fingers picking at the label.

“I didn’t remember…” Steve whispered, horrified with himself.  He could remember everything these days after the serum, even when he’d had too much of Thor’s liquor.  He tore his eyes away from Barnes on the sofa to his Bucky, who was picking his fingers across the plates of his silver palm.  The former assassin offered a shrug.

“No big deal, Stevie,” Bucky’s reply was so soft that Steve wouldn’t have heard it without the serum-enhanced senses.  His heart clenched in his chest as Bucky’s hunched posture betrayed how vulnerable and exposed he was feeling, like he wanted to shrink down and slip through the creaky floorboards.  Steve desperately wanted to ask if feelings had changed, if there was still a possibility for that, and more than anything, he wanted to fix the damage he’d done seventy-five years ago.

“Buck,” he tried again, voice softer, warmer.  Bucky arched an eyebrow and looked over to him with an expression that was a practiced neutral.  Thing was, that expression exposed everything.  Bucky was guarded, trying to isolate himself from the mess inside of his head and his heart.  For a brief moment, Steve considered stopping this half-cocked plan in his head before it started.  Then again, there’d always been a part of Steve that was a reckless idiot.

Steve moved quickly, a hand catching Bucky’s face to tip it back how he wanted.  The kiss he gave his best friend now wasn’t sloppy or ill-practiced.  It was precise, soft, and inviting. Beneath his palm, Bucky was coiled tight like a spring and holding his breath.  Steve was just about to pull away, apologize and remove himself to another area of the apartment, when Bucky’s body went pliant and he kissed back.  Bucky’s hands grasped the blonde’s hips, drawing him in close.  Steve could do little else but follow until he had Bucky pinned to the wall.

The sweetest noise he’d ever heard rumbled out of Bucky’s throat, a growling moan as he started kissing Steve back in earnest.  Steve took little time to deepen it, tongue sweeping slow and curious within the other’s mouth.  That moan echoed again, and he pressed harder into Bucky’s body.  Even through his armour, he could feel every plain of muscle and the structure of bone that fit just right into the cradle of his own body.  Bucky’s hands gripped the shield harness over Steve’s shoulders, holding him down urgently into the kiss.  Steve’s hand flattened against the wall beside his head, bracing himself as the kiss broke.  His entire body felt like it was on fire, floating high above the rooftops.  It was only Bucky’s hands on his body and the hard line of his that kept Steve grounded.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispered once the kiss broke.  Steve’s lips were humming, his cheeks and jaw warmed from the other man’s stubble.  “I… I…” Bucky tried to choke out, and Steve felt his heart do a flip.  He reached up to cup Bucky’s face, the heat on his own face growing.  Bucky’s lips parted, his face tipping up to receive the next kiss Steve was leaning in for.  Their lips barely brushed together before Steve’s forehead hit the wall.  The heft and heat of Bucky disappeared from between them.  Panic swelled inside of Steve, his hands palming at the wall, frantically.  The yellowed walls faded to white, the music grew tinny and the dull hum started up again on his left side.

“No no no… not again, no, please.  Please, come back, _please_ …” Steve whispered, frenziedly.  The heat on his face was growing as he pushed away from the wall and moved into the adjoining room, his bedroom.  Rogers was sitting on the bed, but he was alone in the room, stripped to his bottoms with his suspenders hanging loose around his hips.  There was no on else.  Rogers gaze lifted, and Steve swore to god that they made eye contact.  The heat on his face grew even more, to the point of burning.  He palmed his cheek and stumbled back with a howl, sure that his face was on fire.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he stumbled back into the wall, before collapsing onto the floor in a heap, heels digging into the floor as he rolled onto his back.

“Steve,” a voice said above him, and he forced his eyes open.  Rogers was looming over him, naked from the waist up, frail hands fluttering over his face.  “Steve, it’s time to wake up now.  Wake up, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Rogers’ mouth was moving, but the words didn’t quite line up to the movements.  The boiling sensation on his face faded away as Rogers palmed Steve’s face.  His hand was cold, so so cold.  Steve sucked in a deep breath and blinked a few times.  Rogers disappeared from above him, fading into Bucky.  He gasped gently, fingers reaching out.

“Bucky,” he exhaled reverently, hands palming his best friend’s face.  It was a dream.  It must have been.  But it had felt so real…

“How ya feelin’, punk?”  Bucky grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes.  Around Bucky, the room came into focus.  If the white walls of the medical wing in Avengers Tower weren’t a dead giveaway, the overwhelming smell of disinfectant that made the back of his throat feel heavy certainly would.  His nose wrinkled up with displeasure.

“Like ass,” Steve grumbled, pushing his hands into the wafer-thin mattress and forcing himself up.  Bucky was there, a hand on his back to keep him steady, which was good, because the room went topsy-turvy for a moment.  He looked over to Bucky, finally taking in a bit more detail.  Both of them were still in their gear, but the two beds in the room were pushed together.  He frowned a bit, gloved fingers brushing along the bed sheets.

Had all that been a dream?  His stomach twisted in knots.  It had been so, so long since he’d allowed himself to think of Bucky like that.  It seemed wrong after everything Bucky had been through to want something intimate like that.  But why were the beds pushed together, and why was Bucky in one of them?

“What happened?”  He asked softly, warily.  Bucky barely suppressed a wince, chewing his bottom lip as he considered his response.

“Victor put somethin' on your face. Looked painful so I tried t'pull it off but it knocked me out, I guess.  So now we’re here.  Vision figured out a way to get it off, said somethin' 'bout a Time Gem? So, the sciencey types’ve squirrelled ‘emselves away in the lab t’play with it,” Bucky drawled, and Steve’s belly twisted further.  It was almost exactly what Bucky had said in his dream, but not exactly.

“Oh, great. Let's let Tony play with  _another_  Infinity Stone, ‘cause that worked out _so_ well the first time..." Steve muttered under his breath, gaze dropping to his lap.  His sarcasm was a deflection to hide the wave of disappointment that crawled over him, making him feel uncomfortably hot and a little ill.  He needed out of the armour, as it felt too constricting suddenly.  Swinging his legs over the edge, he forced himself out of the hospital bed without sparing Bucky another glance. Bucky didn’t argue, didn’t try to coax him to staying put for a few minutes.  They both hated hospitals for different reasons.

Steve held his breath for a moment when Bucky fell into step beside him, their broad shoulders brushing against one another’s as they stepped into the elevator.  Steve tucked himself against the wall, one arm wrapped around his chest, propping the other up to brush his lips with his fingertips. He felt as though he could still taste Bucky on his mouth, his tongue; a sweet, smoky flavour of cigarettes and butterscotch candies. He shuffled off the elevator as it arrived on their floor, Bucky a shadow behind him all the way to the suite they shared. 

Their suite was about six times larger than their apartment in DUMBO. The lush Christmas tree in front of the window made the whole place smell like evergreen. Steve had managed to find a lot of those old, hand-painted ornaments from second-hand shops and online, and there was a string of popcorn around the whole thing. A few small gifts wrapped in newspaper and twice sat beneath the branches. The only real difference between this tree and the one in their old apartment was the height and the lack of candles. White twinkle lights had replaced that particular fire hazard.

Steve moved with Bucky to the load out wardrobe right by the door, stripping their gear off and hanging it up. Steve's fingers curled around the shield harness as he made to take it off. His photographic memory happily supplied him the mental image of Bucky clinging desperately against the leather straps, head tipped up, lips red and kiss-bruised.

"Steve?" Bucky asked softly from his left, drawing the Captain away from his thoughts. He peered at Bucky curiously and was surprised to see him stripped to his black Under Armor already. How long had he been standing there, staring into the abyss...?

"Yeah?" He responded, voice far more gravelly than he cared to admit. Something shifted across Bucky's face, as those slate-blue eyes dropped down to where Steve was clutching the harness, and then slowly,  _so fucking slowly_ , back up to his eyes. Steve wondered if it was that wishful thinking again that made him see Bucky's gaze lingering on his mouth. 

"Aw, hell..." Bucky groused before batting Steve's hands off the harness. He took hold and pulled Steve in, mouth slamming reckless and hard against Steve's. It only took Steve half a second to catch up. Their teeth and tongues clicked and slipped together as Bucky pinned Steve to the one closed door of the wardrobe.  With Bucky's leg pushed up between his thighs, Steve had no chance. He was hard in seconds, straining painfully against the jock in his armour. And so was Bucky, his hips moving in slow rut into Steve's hipbone for friction against his erection.

Steve's hands fluttered about for purchase, rarely lingering on any one point of Bucky's body. He wanted to touch everything all at once. He finally managed to find the hem of Bucky's shirt, and dragged his blunt nails up Bucky’s abs. He whined and shoved Steve harder into the wall just once, jostling him slightly.

"You fuckin' punk,” Bucky complained as he started biting a hot line of sweet agony down the side of Steve’s throat until reaching the stiff collar of his uniform.  With a frustrated growl, he peeled the shield harness down Steve’s shoulders and dropped it to the floor.  “Tell me t’stop… god damn, you got any idea how much I’ve wanted you, Stevie?”  Bucky babbled as his fingers started working at the clasps of the armour, a practiced move from when Steve was too injured to get his gear off himself.

“Don’t.  Please don’t stop…” Steve pleaded hoarsely, his fingers trembling as they curled under Bucky’s shirt and pushed it upwards.  Bucky exhaled a sharp ‘ _thank god_ ’ before shoving off the torso armour on Steve.  Flesh and silver fingers dug into Steve’s chest, causing him to mewl softly.

“Not gonna, baby.  Shit, get the rest of ya gear off an’ go lie down.  I’ll be right back,” he promised, nipping Steve’s bottom lip before tearing himself away.  It took Steve a good ten seconds to pull himself together enough to strip down to his dark blue compression pants, carelessly leaving it in a heap on the floor to deal with later.  Rather than retreating to his bedroom, where he might dither and start to overthink, Steve grabbed the blankets and pillows from the sofa and dropped them down by their Christmas tree.  Sitting down in the pseudo-nest he’d made, he peered up at the Christmas tree, focusing in on the way the lights twinkled and the smell permeated everything in their apartment.

Steve had done such a good job at distracting himself with the decorations that he nearly jumped out of his skin when warm fingers stroked down his spine.  Breathing in deeply, he twisted enough to catch Bucky’s mouth with his own, kissing him soft and sweet.  Bucky’s tongue tasted like mint now, and Steve almost mourned the loss of the smoky butterscotch.  At least, he might have, had that agile tongue not been tracing along his, stealing his breath.  Bucky’s hands were tender rather than frantic as they curled around Steve and coaxed him onto his back on the pile of pillows and blankets.

The kiss went from explorative to heated as Bucky settled his weight down over Steve, pressed in between his legs so they were connected from chest to groin.  Steve dug his heels into the blankets and rolled his hips up experimentally.  Bucky practically growled right into his mouth and ground right back, betraying just how wound up he already was by how stiff his cock was.  Steve wouldn’t complain or tease.  He was in the same boat; painfully hard against the seam of his leggings and grinding back up for desperately needed friction.

Steve’s head tipped back with a small tug from the other on his hair.  The heat of Bucky’s mouth, the scrape of his whiskers down the side of his neck was enough to draw out a breathy mewl.  Steve lost himself to the sensation.  Bucky’s heat, the weight of his body, the burn of his mouth like a hot lance on his skin as he followed the path down, down with little bruises sucked into his skin until he was licking around Steve’s navel.

“Buck,” Steve complained weakly, squirming at the ticklish sensation of stubble along his belly.  Bucky merely chuckled darkly as he started peeling the compression pants off, so slowly that Steve was sure he was going to lose his damned mind.  Every inch that was revealed of his milky Irish skin was graced with a soft kiss here, a love bite worked in there.  Steve’s cock throbbed as it lay across his belly, curved slightly towards his hipbone.  Naked and breathless, he peered up to Bucky, whose eyes were as dark as the shirt he was peeling over his head.

It wasn’t the first time Steve had seen Bucky naked since he’d come home.  Living together, taking care of Bucky while he recovered, it was par for the course that Steve would see more of his best friend than was probably strictly appropriate.  But now, with Bucky kneeling between his bare legs, a flesh and a silver hand wandering up Steve’s thighs, he felt like he could really appreciate Bucky’s body.  The desire to trace every scar and packed muscle with his tongue had him salivating, but he was stuck, frozen in place, as Bucky leaned down to wrap his full lips around the tip of Steve’s cock.

“O-oh, _ohh shiiiit_ …” Steve groaned, briefly squeezing his eyes shut though the urge to watch Bucky use his mouth was far more appealing. The man was a genius. His tongue curled around the flared tip, tracing the base of purpling head.  Steve's fingers trembled as they carded lightly through Bucky's hair, pushing the strands out of the way. Slate-blue eyes tipped upward and Steve was sure Bucky smirked around his cock. He wasn't sure however, as half a moment later, Bucky's jaw loosened and he started dragging his lips slowly down the whole shaft. Steve was so fraught with pleasure, that he didn't notice Bucky slicking up his fingers with a tube from his pocket.

It was the first, cool circling of Bucky's rough fingertips against Steve's hole that tore a strangled noise from his throat. Tension filled his body, coiling the muscles. He wasn't a virgin by any means, but this? This was something he did to himself in those private moments in his bedroom. Bucky hummed around his cock, patiently waiting for him to relax before easing the tip of his middle finger just passed the tight cluster of muscle. Steve moaned and pushed down, wanting more. Bucky was happy to provide, pushing his digit all the way in.

Steve's voice broke on a hissed curse, the dual stimulation driving him up the wall. His rolling hips were pressed down by a metal palm applying pressure on his lower belly. The burn came when Bucky pressed a second finger inside, causing him to suck in a deep breath and go still. Bucky's tongue dragging around his tip brought him back, coaxing him to breathe and move once the dull throb of his hole faded some. The air in his lung was released with a whiny moan. It wasn't long before Steve was rolling his hips again, fucking himself on Bucky's fingers while jerking into the hot mouth that was wrapped around him.

 _Fuckin’ finally_. Steve had wanted this so long, and the sweet sensation of Bucky taking care of him made the wait seem almost worth it. His hands fluttered through chestnut hair, gently tugging to draw Bucky upward.

"Please, Buck. It's been so long," he pleaded as Bucky kissed his way up Steve's abdomen.  The fingers inside of him continued to move and twist, opening him still when Bucky’s lips covered his.  Bucky kissed slowly but demandingly; his tongue utterly owning every millimetre of Steve’s mouth.  The extraction of Bucky’s fingers made Steve whine in protest, hands pawing up into chestnut hair.  A shift of thighs between thighs, and the flared tip of Bucky’s cock was pressing against the ring of muscle.  Steve whimpered, doing his damnedest to stay still, when all he wanted to do was screw himself down on the thick shaft.

With agonizing slowness, Steve was filled with every fat inch.  Every muscle quivered as the burn spread out through his pelvis, causing his breath to hitch.  He was dimly aware of Bucky soothing him, stroking his hair, coaxing him to breathe nice and slow, just like he used to when Steve’s body was trying to kill him all those decades ago.  The pain slowly faded, replaced with a dull ache and a need for Bucky to _fucking move_.  Steve rolled his hips, shuddering at the sensation of being so, so full, of the glide of Bucky’s cock inside of him.  Bucky hissed and latched onto his hips, holding him still.

“Shit, baby, fuck, just… just hang on a minute,” Bucky hissed, his fingers digging into Steve’s skin.  A lazy smile pulled at Steve’s mouth as he looked up to Bucky’s pinched expression, the slate-blue eyes that were closed, and lips pursed into a thin line as he held on.  Looping a leg around Bucky’s waist, Steve pulled and arched his hips, rutting himself greedily into the cradle of Bucky’s pelvis.  The brunet growled through a soft moan, giving Steve one, hard thrust.  He whined loudly and squirmed down on Bucky’s cock greedily.

“So, that’s how you’re gonna be, huh?”  Bucky asked breathless, grinning like a wolf as he gave another complete stroke.  Steve huffed out a one-note laugh, his head falling back into the nest.

“Yeah.  Don’t _ah_ -act so surprised,” Steve managed to sass, even as Bucky began to move in a steady, slow rhythm.  Bucky’s hum was the last thing Steve was able to properly process, as stars began to bloom behind his eyelids.  Whatever discomfort he still had was pushed away by the steady motion of Bucky’s hips, pushing the ache into warmth that bloomed across his hips and into his cock, which was painfully hard and leaking steadily across his belly.

The urgency in Bucky’s movements increased, driving him faster, deeper, until their skin was clapping together.  The stars on Steve’s eyelids went supernova as cool fingertips brushed up the side of his cock before curling all the way around.  Bucky’s silver thumb traced around the swollen tip, smearing through the precome and using it to slick up his fingers.  After a few tentative strokes, Bucky found a pace that worked counterpoint to how his cock was sliding in and out of Steve’s hole.  Everything zipped back into perfect clarity for Steve, from Bucky’s soft groans to the hush of his skin rubbing on the blankets.

“F-fuck, Bucky…” he groaned, heat flushing down from his cheeks to his chest, mottling his pale skin red.  Steve was panting, lost between wanting to rut into Bucky’s fist and grinding down onto his cock.

“Yeah?”  Bucky asked as his fingers squeezed tight around Steve.  Steve whined and arched upward, teeth digging so hard into his bottom lip that it turned white.

“Y-yeah, oh god, Buck, I… fuck, m’gonna--” he trailed off into a hoarse whine as Bucky got the picture.  Steve’s entire body rocked and shifted in the makeshift nest.  Bucky focused on taking Steve how he needed, angling his cock inside to drag the tip across his prostate over and over.  It was too much and not enough, straddling that line between agony and relief.

The climax caught Steve off guard, seizing every muscle in his body and stealing the air from his lungs.  Heat scalded up his belly as he came across it, his body trying so hard to curl in on itself but unable to do so with Bucky’s frame between his legs.  Bucky cursed sharply, releasing Steve’s cock to focus on thrusting faster, shorter, chasing his own end.  Steve continued to whine and writhe, grinding down to meet Bucky’s movements.  Bucky came with a hoarse, hurt noise from his throat, holding himself deeply inside Steve with his fingers digging down hard enough to leave bruises on Steve’s hips.

Steve settled a little faster than Bucky did, though his hands still trembled as they stroked through Bucky’s hair.  A kiss, not much more than a soft press of their lips, coaxed Steve’s muscles to unfurl the rest of the way until he was pliable beneath Bucky.  He hummed as Bucky stroked his sides, through his hair, as the content feeling settled over him.  He was warm, comfortable, and sated for now.  The weight of Bucky’s body resting over his own only solidified the sentiment.

“Stevie, I…” Bucky whispered softly against the skin of his throat.  Steve could hear him swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, before he huffed with annoyance at himself.  Steve felt himself smiling faintly, joy filling his chest, making him feel more alive than he’d felt in the six years he’d been out of the ice.

“I know, Buck… I _know_ ,” he soothed, running a hand gently through Bucky’s hair.  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart…”

~ =★= ~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](http://meshla-aphrodisia.tumblr.com) if you're into that sort of thing. Also stop by to say hi. I don't bite very hard. Just a little nibble, really.


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